“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury: testimony is now complete. You are now charged with determining a verdict and, if the verdict is guilty, making a sentencing recommendation. My bailiffs will provide you with a verdict checklist, which will delineate the specific issues you must decide upon during your deliberations. As you know, you will not be sequestered, and deliberations will conclude each day at five P.M. until a verdict is reached. Once the jury-room door is locked, however, you will not be able to leave. A guard will be posted outside the door and will tend to your needs, both pertaining to this trial and personally. She will be the one who will serve as your liaison with me. You will not be served food during the deliberations day. A variety of beverages will be available all day. You will break one hour for lunch. You may dine at any of the many restaurants in the area. You may dine only with a fellow juror, or alone. At this point, I ask you all to adjourn to the jury room. This court is in recess.”
50
The Jury
“This room smells.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“We’re not supposed to use our names, right? Only our juror numbers, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Well, then, hello, all. I am Juror Number Nine. I’m an accountant.”
“Interesting job.”
“Excuse me? We haven’t met.”
“I said, ‘Interesting job.’”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Who, me? Hell, no. Working with columns of numbers all day long must be fascinating work.”
“And what is it you do for a living, if I may ask?”
“I spot-solder circuit boards at Raytheon.”
“On an assembly line? Doing the same thing over and over all day long? Talk about calling the kettle black.”
“Can we can the crap, please? We need to pick a foreperson. I am Juror Number Six. I’m a stockbroker.”
“Can we play music in here? You know, like a radio or a CD? I’m Juror Number Twelve. I’m a pharmacist.”
“No TVs or radios are allowed. It says so right in your ‘Being a Juror’ pamphlet. And I am Juror Number Three. I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
“You actually read that thing?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t work?”
“I work at home.”
“But you don’t earn a paycheck?”
“No.”
“Enough chitchat, please? Can we pick our foreperson? I’d like to get out of here before Christmas. I’m Number Eleven. I’m a reporter for the New Haven Messenger.”
“Do you want the job? I’m Number Seven. I work on the assembly line at Pratt and Whitney.”
“I’ll take it if everyone agrees.”
“I have no problem with him being foreperson. I’m Number Two. I’m a hospice nurse.”
“Does anyone object to Juror Number Eleven being the foreperson? No? All right, then. Juror Number Eleven, you are our foreperson and fearless leader.”
“Yeah, that’s funny. I suppose the first thing we should do is assign seats at the table, right?”
“Every courtroom movie I’ve ever seen has the foreperson at the head of the table, and then the jurors seated in numerical order starting on his left.”
“Like in Twelve Angry Men, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I liked the remake better than the original. Tony Soprano was in it. This was before The Sopranos, though.”
“People? Please? Can we limit all—or at least most—of our conversations to matters related to the trial? Please? Okay, let’s take our seats. I suppose the first thing we should do is take an initial vote to see where we stand.”
“That makes sense. I’m Juror Number Five, by the way. I go to college. And I work at the Olive Garden.”
“I love their bread sticks.”
“Jurors … please?”
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Juror Number Ten. I’m a teacher. We should talk later.”
“Okay, okay … enough chitchat, please? Can we take a preliminary vote now?”
“How do you want to do this?”
“Well, if we agree it should be a secret ballot, I can cut up a sheet of legal paper into twelve pieces. Each of you can then write guilty or not guilty on your ballot, and I’ll collect them.”
“That sounds all right.”
“Unless you all want to do a public vote now instead of a secret one?”
“Frankly, I think—oh, I’m Juror Number One, by the way. I’m a thoracic surgeon—”
“Even a doctor couldn’t get out of jury duty?”
“Frankly, I think we should vote by a show of hands. Since we’re all in here until we come to a unanimous verdict, I think we should know right off the bat where everybody stands.”
“That makes sense to me. I’m Juror Number Four. I stay at home and take care of my kids.”
“Another one that doesn’t work.”
“That’s enough. How do you all feel about a show of hands instead of a secret ballot? Do we all agree to do it that way?”
“Sure. Let’s get it over with. Who knows? Maybe we’ll think she’s either guilty or not guilty right off the bat and we can get the fu—sorry—get the hell out of here. I’m Juror Number Eight, and I work as a landscaper.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do it. All who think the defendant should be found guilty, raise your hand. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. All who think the defendant should be found not guilty, raise your hand. One. The first vote is eleven guilty, one not guilty.”
“Juror Number … what’s your number?”
“Three.”
“Juror Number Three. You voted not guilty? Are you crazy? She admitted doing it!”
“Yes, but the not-guilty verdict is by reason of insanity.”
“So?”
“So I think she was insane when she did it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Language, please?”
“She was as sane as you or I, and she knew exactly what she was doing. That ‘reason of insanity’ thing is nothing but a lawyer trick to get her off.”
“I don’t agree.”
“And we’re off.”
“Juror Number Three, what would it take to convince you that the defendant is guilty? What would convince you to change your vote?”
“I don’t know.”
“This is pathetic. And I don’t want to be here.”
“Oh, yeah? Doesn’t it fill you with pride to know you’re doing your civic duty?”
“My only civic duty is to earn a living so I can pay my taxes and not live off the state.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen? The more off-topic conversations we have, the longer we will be locked in this room.”
“Which smells.”
“So, right now we are eleven to one in favor of guilty.”
“What happens if she won’t change her mind?”
“Technically, we’d be deadlocked. Hung. But there is no way the judge is going to accept that right off the bat.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’d send us back in here and tell us to try again. Judges hate hung juries. He’d have to declare a mistrial and she’d have to be tried all over again.”
“I just don’t think she was in her right mind when she did what she did.”
“Crap.”
“Hey! Aren’t I entitled to my own opinion about this?”
“Of course you are. I’ll ask you all to maintain civility, please. Maybe you can explain to us why you think she should be acquitted?”
“You know, I remember once reading in a novel about the ‘irresistible impulse’ test.”
“What’s that?”
“It means that a person should get a not-guilty verdict if her actions were the result of her being unable to defy an ‘irresistible impulse.’ There was an example in the book about a cop at a person’s elbow.”
“What does that mean?”
&nb
sp; “It means that to qualify as an irresistible-impulse crime, you have to ask yourself if Troy would have done the exact same thing if a cop had been standing right next to her. I think she would have.”
“Yes, but I think that a person should not be held responsible for his or her actions only if their insanity prevented them from making a moral decision.”
“So?”
“That’s why I’m voting guilty! Don’t you see? She killed those people because she believed it was the moral thing to do!”
“But murder is immoral …”
“She knew exactly what she was doing! You’re trying to say she was unable to distinguish between moral and immoral. I’m saying she committed an immoral act believing it was moral.”
“But it wasn’t moral. So doesn’t that mean she couldn’t tell the difference?”
“In her mind, she decided the difference. It was a conscious act. That’s not crazy in my book.”
“Juror Number Three, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Are you a Beatles fan?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you think the guy who killed John Lennon should have been executed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, he wasn’t. He’s in Attica. And someday he may get out. Do you think that’s right?”
“Actually, no, I don’t.”
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Did you know that the guy who tried to kill President Reagan is trying to get permission to leave the mental institution on unsupervised trips?”
“Yes, I knew that. But wouldn’t the Secret Service watch him?”
“Yes, they would, but in the eyes of the legal system, he would be sane enough to go traipsing around Washington with his parents. And he was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Do you think that’s right?”
“I …”
“Do you think that’s right?”
“No.”
“Stop berating her.”
“I’m not berating her. I’m trying to make her understand why her thinking is wrong. Troy killed those people. Six families are now completely devastated. Some of her dead coworkers were young—a couple were barely out of their teens. And how about the family of that immigrant now left all alone in … whatever country he came from?”
“Spain, I think.”
“He worked his ass off to save money to bring his family to America, and she executed him. There is no way I’m voting to send her to a mental institution for the rest of her life where she’ll lie in bed high on tranquilizers and watch TV all day.”
“That’s no way to live.”
“Hey, honey. Pick a hand. In this one is a bed, Valium, and cable. Not to mention three squares a day. In this one is a syringe filled with enough poison to wipe out the entire cast of The Practice. I know which one I’d pick. I think she’s guilty, and I think she should die. Period. End of sentence.”
“Do you all think she knew what she was doing?”
“Of course she knew what she was doing.”
“But don’t you have to be insane to do something like that?”
“You want to know something, honey? I’m not a shrink, and I don’t think it’s my job to make those kinds of decisions. I ask myself two questions. The first is, did the defendant kill six people? The answer is yes. She fucking admitted it! And before Mr. Foreman can charge me a quarter, I’ll say I am sorry for the profanity. The second question I ask myself is, should she be punished for her crimes? Once again, I answer yes. See how easy it is?”
“But this is a person’s life we’re deciding on.”
“Oh, spare us the melancholy, please? She executed six people. What if they were all members of your family?”
“Oh, don’t say such a thing!”
“Why not? Hits home then, right? You’re too caught up with legal technicalities, and I also think you’re afraid to take responsibility for deciding someone should die. I’m not going to ask any of you women to respond to this, but I’ll say one thing. If any of you have had an abortion, then you have nothing to say about not wanting to vote guilty, or not wanting to impose the death penalty.”
“Since all the other women here have already voted guilty, you’re addressing that to me, aren’t you? You want to know if I’ve had an abortion? If I have had one, and I’m voting not guilty, then you can call me a hypocrite, right?”
“I was talking to everyone. The women, I mean.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Do you have children?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“Yes, I have children.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“I have two girls and a boy.”
“Ages?”
“The girls are both sixteen. Twins. My son is twenty-two.”
“The girls are in school?”
“Yes.”
“And your son?”
“He has his own business.”
“At his age?”
“He started it right out of high school.”
“What does he do, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“He has his own catering business.”
“Oh, yeah? Can we give him a call? I’m getting kind of hungry.”
“What kind of catering business?”
“Vegan.”
“No animal foods of any kind?”
“None.”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Okay.”
“What does that mean?”
“I find it interesting that a vegetarian mother with a vegan son would like to give a pass to a murderer who killed in the defense of animals.”
“That is not—”
“Let me ask you another question.”
“Do you deliberately try to be obnoxious? Or does it just come naturally to you?”
“What if your son—what’s his name?”
“Peter.”
“What if Peter worked part-time at the Waterbridge Animal Shelter and just happened to be working one particular Friday afternoon?”
“I guess subtlety is not your strong suit either.”
“Let’s take it one step further. What if it were your twin sixteen-year-old daughters who volunteered at the Waterbridge Animal Shelter, and they were working one particular Friday afternoon?”
“Stop talking to me, please.”
“Mr. Foreman?”
“Lighten up, Juror … whatever your number is.”
“Well, what are we going to do now? Eleven to one and I can’t talk to her about it?”
“Of course you can. Just don’t get personal. And don’t be confrontational. And don’t be arrogant or rude.”
“Forget it. I’m done. We can sit in this room ’til fucking doomsday as far as I’m concerned.”
“And don’t be vulgar.”
“Aye-aye, Commandant.”
“And don’t be disrespectful.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hey!”
“Okay, okay, everybody calm down. Is there anything any of you would like to discuss before I call for a second vote?”
“Yeah, how about last week’s episode of Friends?”
“Anybody?”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“I was just wondering how many of us here have pets. I’m still voting guilty, but I was just curious.”
“Hands? Anyone with pets? Wow. Ten. Why don’t we go around the table?”
“Cat.”
“Cats. Three.”
“Dog.”
“Dog.”
“I have twin golden retrievers.”
“Goldfish.”
“Dog.”
&nbs
p; “Hamster.”
“Ferret.”
“Cats. A mother and five kittens. Anyone looking for a kitten?”
“I thought ferrets were illegal.”
“They’re not.”
“I’m trying to find homes for all the kittens.”
“Maybe you should talk to the defendant—she works at an animal shelter, right?”
“Ha-ha-ha. Very unfunny.”
“I’m considering getting a kitten …”
“Great. We’ll talk when this is over.”
“Okay.”
“Anyone else?”
“Mr. Foreman?”
“Yes, Juror Number Three?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Would you like to take another vote, Juror Number Three?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Once again. All who think the defendant should be found guilty, raise your hand. All right. All who think the defendant should be found not guilty, raise your hand. The verdict is unanimous. Guilty as charged.”
“Well, that was a surprising turnabout.”
“Don’t talk to me, please.”
“Do we have to come up with a sentencing recommendation now?”
“Yes.”
“What are our choices?”
“Life in prison without parole. Death by lethal injection.”
“I think we should vote on that too.”
“That’s fine with me. Does everyone agree to vote on a sentencing recommendation? Okay. Here we go. All those in favor of life in prison without parole, raise your hand. One.”
“That figures.”
“Hey. Cool it.”
“Why should I? First she’s against finding her guilty, and now she doesn’t want to execute her. Well, at least she’s consistent—in her own twisted way.”
“I resent that.”
“Too bad.”
“Would you like to tell us all why you don’t think she should be executed, Juror Number Three?”
“Isn’t … isn’t …”
Dialogues Page 23